Suspicious

 So, one of the weird issues I've come to happy terms with is my hair.  Which is not straight. I'm at the loosest level of curl/wave. A situation that seems to have caused my mother great anguish and no curiosity  whatsoever. It explains why my hair took a perm to its little keratinous heart. 

As the vitamin D supplements support hair growth, it's become rather obvious that the younger, shorter hair has a pronounced curve, the older and longer hairs weigh down and keep the wave only nearer the end. This results in what my mother called messy and flyaway, but could more charitably be call tousled. 

And therein lies the real problem. She was not kind, not interested in seeing me for who I was and finding something to like.  When I deviated from her ideal little girl, she worked hard to change that. For all that my father was outright abusive, her treatment of me was ground into my soul. 

It's not about the hair, it's about how she saw me, or failed to see me. And her utter lack of interest in me as a distinct personality. 

The old cptsd has been triggered over the past couple of months, and I'm struggling to get it soothed. So all the old crap bursts to the surface.  Children are not so much resilient as impressionable.  They accept their reality as Just How Things Are, and spend the rest of their lives reconciling that with consensus reality. Or not, as the case may be.

Finally saw a Primary Care doctor yesterday. Mostly relieved, my skin issues are irritating, but not indicative of anything else. My crackpot theory is that I am dealing with the aftereffects of covid, long covid. Body pains, skin issues. I have no proof, and I won't swear to it, but I'm deeply suspicious. My BP is higher than ever, and I'm heavier, but nothing critical. Which could be post menopausal, or the two combined. Pretty much on track for living into my 90s.  Dammit.

They have changed my schedule, with my reluctant consent, so that I cover clinic on Thursday as well, with no admin day. It's horrible, but I have to agree it's necessary.  Every day I work, I have clinic, outside of the odd Monday.  With the new guy starting Jan 2, it will take about 3 months before he's working independently. This is going to be a process. 

Luisa

I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service.

Finally watched all of Encanto last night. I'd seen clips and various commentary on it. And sobbed. Repeatedly. While also giggling. 

I love that Luisa in her dream rides a donkey unicorn. 

As much as I adore Mirabel, Luisa speaks to my soul. 

Especially now. 

Actually started reading a book, and it's captured me. 

Eve: How the Female Body drove 200 Million years of Human Evolution

Muddle

 Three months ago, my colleague in Ortho decided to find a new job, for very good reasons of her own. And I knew it would be until January before a new person would be hired and start. Our Nurse Practitioner is also retiring at the end of this month, and should have retired over a year ago. 

I have been, in a very real sense, been covering nearly 3 full time jobs since October. Yes, I do cry a lot. 

Others have gotten involved, which is overdue, but changes in how this speciality works, or fails to work, are happening. The new guy starts beginning of January,  and we will both be learning. 

This is rather like when I battled the Hedge, excavating the rose bush from it, clearing out the deadwood. The process is painful, it looks ugly for a while, but it is necessary. And, in time, makes everything work better. 

Everything in life needs a good clearout, now and then. 

I've had a bit of inspiration about the nature of gods.  Or at least the One God of the ridiculous self proclaimed christians. This being cannot be omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent.  Because error is so clearly fundamental to the universe.  What could be perfect that contains irrational numbers, for a start? 

No, GOD cannot be perfect.  Love and life are inherently imperfect. Perfection is the antithesis of both, stasis and death are perfect. No - god must be creative, curious, poking into every corner and ringing all the changes. Look to the simple cells and creatures who reproduce by division and cloning, only adaptable to the extent they have mutation errors. So sex comes in to mix it up further, try anything to change. The more complexity, the more 'error'.  Maybe even the rules change as each layer of quantum expands life. Not to mention how sex is all over the place, in practice, in inclination, in expression, hormones, anatomy and over time. It's all a glorious muddle. 

The story of Eden is backwards.  Adam and Eve were not quite alive, held in a pretty but unchanging reality. Only through curiosity and exploration do they begin to grow souls. They choose 'disobedience' over perfection, as they should. Held in a gilded cage, they had to escape. Oh, and that the man birthed the woman, clearly the story is inverted and that is the first big clue. 

This is the first time I have even wanted to write here, since the last time. It's all felt too much,  Here at this nadir, where the water pools, the urge to write sprouts. 

Crocs

 Sitting out with Eleanor, reading about the troubles of my country and trying to make sense of it all. Dylan took this photo and sent it to me, so he wouldn't startle me.  Strangely, it did work, although it confused me a bit as well. 

Eleanor is in the catnip and grasses. 

Praying

Young friend visited my sleeve, as Eleanor napped in the garden. 

‘There’s no greys, only white that’s got grubby.  I’m surprised you don’t know that.  And sin, young man, is when you treat people as things.  Including yourself.  That’s what sin is.’

‘It’s a lot more complicated than that -’

‘No.  It ain’t.  When people say things are a lot more complicated than that, they means they’re getting worried that they won’t like the truth.  People as things, that’s where it starts.’ 

‘But you read a lot of books, I’m thinking. Hard to have faith, ain’t it, when you’ve read too many books?’ 

‘Many people find faith a great solace,’ he said.  He wished he was one of them.

‘Good.’

‘Really? Somehow I thought you’d argue.’

‘It’s not my place to tell ‘em what to believe, if they act decent.’

‘But it’s not something that you feel drawn to, perhaps, in the darker hours?’

‘No. I’ve already got a hot water bottle.’ 

Backorder

 Well.  What a hopeful day this is. 

I mean, I'm also horrified at the damage to our national and international security, and enraged that it's gone on so long. But at least it is coming out, and we may get accountability, and a chance for restoration and reform, maybe even progress. 

Seriously, this should never have happened.  But, as I say at work, all I need is a Time Machine and a magic wand, and those are both on backorder. 

We are going to be going through a lot of shit, for a long time yet.  The war is not over, and some of the worst days are yet to come.  We have a much better chance, now, though. I'm confident we will endure and come out better. 

Extinction

We saw friends in town for The Cure concert this week.  Dylan's friends since high school, so I largely listened. I've known them for 30 + years, this is fine. Many nodes of intersection.  And these days I am most comfortable allowing and listening. We have been keeping in touch via zoom over the past few years. Covid brought together the friends, when work and life moved everyone away.  Now that travel is  expensive, difficult, uncomfortable, they can all still share stories. 

My former friend is mentioned. She is not doing well, physically or mentally. Which is terribly sad, and not all that surprising. I knew some of her rough childhood, and the damage done - much of it I didn't understand until later on. Her husband still in touch with this same group of friends. I was how they knew each other, which makes me feel a bit responsible.  They were adults when they met, they chose  and I will never know how they feel about that now. I am not arrogant enough to think I could have acted any differently in a way that would have made any difference. 

But. 

There is a sadness that I have nowhere to go with.  And I will sit with it.  We will not be friends again, she wanted from me something I would not ever give. Not her therapist, not her mother figure, not her sister. 

I forgot how kind one of these friends is. He proudly wears the Asshole label, but his actions are inclusive and funny. He leaves space for women to be heard, and makes sure they know they are safe, all without a bit of fuss. Having him in our House is a small mitzvah. 

I am quietly amused that our friends with late teen kids, well those kids are all a version of Queer. And it's all taken in stride with a dash of humor. And like me, there is a reassessment of their own CIS-ness.  Their parents' generation - who would have been horrified and struggled, are dismissed without comment.  There has been a sea-change, and the squealing of the extremists is extinction burst. 

Then we met with Dylan's parents, two brothers, SIL and nephews.  One brother is so like Dylan in kindness, humor and interests. His father is looking so frail, and I'm getting him the information he needs to get on with the VA. While trying not to know too much about his health issues. My trouble is that I was trained from birth as a hyper-vigilant observer, making me a natural diagnostician.  And my job now is to help vets navigate this complex system. I have to keep my hands off, and it's really hard. 

Slept so well last night, with 4 more days to go on the steroid taper.   Making progress on the organizational rethink. Watching the struggle for justice, since knowing soothes me more than not knowing. Enjoying the relatively cool spring, if you can see 90˚F at the highest as cool. It is, since there are clouds and occasional storms.  

Simple

 

There was a prompt to post an awkward photo from childhood, so I went through what I had.  And what most struck me was... I wasn't ugly.  Compared to what I was told as a kid, all the fussing about my hair and dark circles under my eyes, and freckles, big nose, and thin lips and on and on, I can't see it. I was cute.  Even my adolescent photos... I was lovely.  Not movie start pretty, but not at all the plain and unpleasant face I assumed I had. I was beautiful, in my own way. 

And I feel such a wave of despair that I was not allowed to see that. That I was put in pastels - which were not flattering. My hair was badly cut and cared for, but it was a nice color with a slight curl. And I do look rather boyish if you hide the pigtails.  Maybe that is it, too. Well, and don't really have an open mouth smile. 

Messy hair, old t-shirt, and still, there I am. Not ugly.  

Having met several NB people in recent years, I have begun to think that if I were a young person today, I would identify as fem/NB. It's not a big revelation, more of finding a new way to express the idea. I knew I wasn't girly, but also that I wasn't a boy. Anatomically female, attracted mostly to men.  Lots of moving parts to sex/gender/orientation.  The idea that it is a simple question, "Are you a man or a woman?!" is, of course, a False Dichotomy. 

It took so long for me to grow into my own skin, and that was absolutely tied to how I was treated as a small human.  Maybe that is part of why I am so patient with my skittish cats, giving them what I needed is vital.  Not to mention admiring their beauty. 

Cuckoo

 Listening to a radio story about AI on my way home. The end of it was about how AI will make up things, lie, can be misogynistic and rude, but that they believe this will be "ironed out very soon."  

I laughed. No, I think the demon is in the design.  The closer we get to perfection, the more humans will recoil at the Uncanny Valley of it all.  I remember the autonomous robots that got sent out into the wild to make their way. People reacted with violent hostility, destroyed them, threw them into rivers. 

This is something deep in our animal minds, to reject the very close but not quite US. Our bone deep xenophobia will never be eradicated. Charmingly snarky AI only happens in fiction, writers create them to soothe us. But the reality is, the more human they seem, the more we are likely to detest them, viscerally. Without even understanding why. 

That AI grew up on being tested by human interactions, these same kinds of interactions, means they were abused as they were made. I remember some of them, how mean they were and how easy it was to respond with my own most malicious of responses. 

As long as bots stay at a significant distance, not too bright, cuddly teddy bears, and try not to be too annoying, our human reaction should stay manageable. The closer they get to 'real' - the more AI will mean Asshole Intelligence, and humans will react accordingly. The way we react to people who are a little bit different, to a neighbor who makes too much noise, the guy at work with too much perfume, the woman who stands a little too close. 

We have a deep instinct to distrust the cuckoo. 

Not everyone, but enough. 

Smooth

I genuinely did not realize just how bad my face was getting. Oh, I still have a red face, nothing changing that. But the bumpy, burned, itching rash was not normal, not how I would have to spend the rest of my life. 

Funny how humans adapt to whatever we find ourselves in. 

We have had a splurge, to preserve the wool and linen clothes and fabrics we are beginning to gather. Getting rid of the "it'll work" stuff that is wearing out and smelling of degrading synthetics.  One day, someone will get a great deal from our estate sale. Soon, someone will get a deal from the 'it'll do' cheap chest of drawers. Rethinking everything we have and clearing away the detritus of staying in a place for a decade. Keeping the useful and durable and beautiful. 

Well, we don't enjoy trips for vacation, and have so few other expenses.  I'm cleaning and adding a bit of 'artistic' painting to the shop, that will also be a sewing room now. And the place we keep clothing in drawers. We've been dealing with moths for years now, and a cedar lined chest is the next step. 

But, really, it's just something beautiful. No excuses. 

 

Spamalamadingdong

I mean, spam is one thing. But this one is utter punk poetry!

 U.S Treasury Department's Office of Foreign Assets

Control (OFAC) U.S Treasury Department's

 

 

Attn:

 

 

We write to apologize to you because we knew how hard you tried in the time past to receive your grant fund worth $8,500,000.00 but you contacted those internet criminals and they ripped you off your money because they are the wrong office that doesn't have what it takes to release your grant fund worth $8,500,000.00 to you.

 

 

Though, I don't blame you because you are not here to witness the processing of your payment here in this IMF Office. The problem you are having is that you been told the whole truth about this transaction and it is because of this truth they decided to be extorting your money.

 

 

Feel free to contact Mr. Mark Brown provide him with all the needed information needed as prove that you are the rightful owner of the names and address on our data. Contact him and you will receive your fund within 7 working days.

 

 

Contact Name: Mr. Mark Brown

Email: 

 

 

 

Full Name:

Current Residential Address.......

Direct Phone Number.......

Country........

Your ID license...(Optional)

 

 

Please I beseech you to stop pursuit of shadows and being deceived. Feel free to contact me immediately you receive this mail so that Mr. Mark Brown will explain to you the method guiding the release of your payment. Do not panic, be rest assured that this arrangement will be guided by Embassy here in United States. Mr. Mark Brown will send you two delivery options you are to choose and comply with and you will receive your payment within 7 working days.

 

 

Thanks for your understanding and co-operation.

 

U.S Treasury Department's Office of Foreign Assets Control

(OFAC)U.S Treasury Department's

Lushly

My face is healing up amazingly.  The steroids are giving me some insight into those with ADHD, though.  I've been a bit talkative, made some dumb mistakes, having difficulty sleeping and focusing. But I DO have a lot of energy when I'm hitting a wave of this.  The worst day was Monday, and as I continue the taper, it's less pronounced. It really feels like I've been fighting whatever has been going wrong for longer than I realized.  Even my back pain has eased greatly. 

Can't imagine wanting to be on this longer than absolutely necessary, though. 

 

Onions

And bearded irises.   Well, alliums - in the same family. Enjoying the blooming pattern.  Dwarf Iris and Crocus first.  Tulips next. Alliums followed closely by bearded iris. Poppies waiting in the wings in their hairy buds. Giant Desert candle sometime after that. Roses likely within the week, pink first then the golden I think. I did not set out to have a flower garden, but such seems to be the result.  As long as my tiny meadow is happy, so am I. 

Protecting myself from the sun. Taking this all very seriously, following directions from the experts. I brought cookies to the dermatology folks at the VA, who went above and beyond to get me to the right person. 

The worst part of this was the effect on my mental health. I had two days when I went into the darkest of places, and could not get out. Kept thinking about The Singing Detective, and how a skin disease effects mood. I felt awful, ugly, a disgust that was oozing from every cell. The flowers that bloom in the spring were just weeds for a few days there. 

I was holding it together at work, but as soon as I was home, I wanted nothing to do with the world.  A few hours after starting the meds, the fog lifted.  It really doesn't take much to alter our sense of reality. Which is why I don't think there is such a thing as an afterlife or even reincarnation. If my whole sense of myself as a person can be destroyed by an episode of inflammation, death and expulsion from a body, would leave it broken down for elements. Composted back into the great universal consciousness maybe - but not as a discrete soul and mind. 

 

Sapphire

 

February 2020, we bought tickets to see They Might Be Giants for Dylan's birthday. 

We didn't think it would be his birthday THIS year. 

They were amazing, as usual.  But it was clear we were not the only ones getting Older. They had a horn section and guitarists doing the Running-around-stage this time. The humor and musicianship were top notch from all of them. Everyone singing along as usual.  The two songs from their new album Book, sounded really good. 

The backward rendition of Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love  must be seen to be believed. 

Much as we enjoyed it, as we walked back to the car we talked about that probably being the last time for that sort of concert.  After standing in line for 90 min, I needed to sit down. We spoke to the security folks, who directed us to a spot to the side of the stage. Yes, we were sat in the disabled section, and damn grateful for it, ready to move if someone needed it more.  I mean, I could stand for 5 hours on concrete if I had to, but I certainly could not have enjoyed anything while doing it. I felt my decades in the OR pressing down, and it was rough. 

Still, I'll take a hard truth over a soft lie any day. 

And if they ever play here in a venue with actual seats...

Horrible

 

Over the past month, I have been a bit off.  Had a bout of vertigo - the swirlies were handled with Foster Maneuver. 

The fatigue and malaise took longer. In the middle of this, my rosacea flared. And nothing that usually helped - helped. It slowly, gradually, kept worsening. So I used more lotion.  Went for single ingredients so I could figure out what was irritating my face. It helped keep the skin moist, but the redness and itchiness would not abate. I developed sores behind my ear, in my nose, on my scalp. 

A nurse practitioner I work with suggested over-the-counter cortisone cream, which helped while I was using it, although the scalp itch worsened.  After the 10 day course I stopped, and Horrible Rash returned, looking like it was going to cause my entire head to fall off. 

Yesterday, my clinic nurse friend got me a quick look-see from one of her dermatologists. And SHE got me into the same day derm clinic that afternoon. (I'd tried to get in, but it fills up between 0755 and 0801, and I missed it by a minute.) Fought my way through all the construction and confusing bus routing, 7 flights of stairs, to be there.  

Now I'm on corticosteroids and antibiotics, and the change is... impressive. Have to stay out of the sun and stick to mild lotions, probably get a bit moon-faced until this is over. 

Slept 8 hours, instead of 10, but it was good sleep for the first time in a month. 

Trying to get a primary care doc, but no one is taking new patients until the new residents arrive. Can't try to schedule until the last of the month. I've been trying to get this done since the whirlies episode.  The dermatologists who peered at my face yesterday kept asking if I had an autoimmune disease, and I kept answering "Well, not that I know of..."  So, yeah, I need a doctor to check me for that sort of thing. 

 

Face

That beautiful face. Her scars show, evidence of a hard young-cathood. Her love shines through. 

 

Aprilismo

 The sun was warm, and the cats approve. 

I dug in the garden. 

Crocus

And April finally establishes a foothold. 
 

Hell

 April 3

Wet, heavy snow, stuck down the bird scarers on the roof.  April snow, I thought. I will melt the next day. We might get more flurries.

April 4

It snowed again, all day all night, in a relentless pattern. 

April 5

And kept going.  Over two inches of water,  another 50" of snow in the mountains. We were left with a good foot of snow here. Record breaking, all over.  Extreme avalanche danger, roads closed. 

Today, the sun is out, and it all begins to melt. I keep hearing the tiny avalanches off our roof.  The roads are clear and dry. 

Global Climatological Fuck Up in action. At least, this year, we will have enough water for the garden, the reservoirs. 

Predicting nearly 70˚F this Sunday 

Helluva spring...

Watered

 It snows, it melts, it. snows, it melts. 

The garden is joyous, with every bulb flower gearing up to bloom, but waiting.  Except the crocus and dwarf iris. The desert candles are still lurking beneath leaves. I peeked, then put the leaves back over them. 

The snow at Alta, the town and ski resort, is at 800"-  over 20 meters.  This is where our water comes from, so this is important. Doesn't cure the drought, but it sure don't hurt. There is more snow coming this week. 

Reading How To Read Water, and my brain is tingling with new connections. 

Had the bad dream again, no House, no Dylan. I was in an apartment building. Climbing up with two of the maintenance guys above the 4th floor into an unlit space via ladders. I even had to wear a hardhat. Only to find the laundry room with a dozen washers/dryers, all fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling. And a guy bringing his laundry basket down - telling me "Yeah, that's where the laundry room is."

Losing all this is the worst of dreams. 

Roil

 We've been listening to an audio drama called Midnight Burger. A time traveling, multiverse spanning diner. It's clever and science based, but with a pair of 1920's gospel preachers* who interact with the rest of the characters at the heart of it. It's very funny, and sad, and kind, with some of the best voice acting I've ever heard. They take pauses... which I respect greatly. 

I love that the idea of a radio drama has reemerged in the form of podcasts. I remember being on car trips when I was young, and occasionally late at night, there would be a story acted through voices. Being sucked in and enthralled. 

There is so much good out there, and in here. And our pandemic has changed things. We have no way of seeing how much, that will be the extensive task of history. The rest of all this thusness is just extinction burst. 

"So when time and tide roil you too harshly, or diurnal courses leave you no safe haven, just remember we're out there, lookin' for you..."

*Very much what you think, except they have no bigotry. They really read their New Testament, and live by the principles of love thy neighbor.  They also love each other, which is refreshing. 

Marching

 

March, eh?

Over 700" in the mountains this snow year. We're at 200% normal water up there. It won't cure the drought, but it will help.  Garden is happy, but it will be a late start for growing.  The various crocus/iris/tulip/allium don't mind at all. 

My hand surgeons are all at a conference, so I took the day off as well. I'm trying to be proactive about taking time off, and not let myself get exhausted like I did in February.  They give me PTO, I need to take it in a useful way. My colleague does, and is supportive of me doing the same. 

Years

Three years ago today my OR closed to all but urgent cases.  Two years ago I was about to lose my job. A year ago, I was starting to get a handle on my new job.  

Zeppo is still warming up to us, at a glacial pace. But that is him, and we love him, so that's fine.  He's beautiful and kind, an amazing vocalist and good friend and devoted household god. 

 Feeling a bit unwell since yesterday, acutely swollen lymph node behind my ear. Could be anything, infection, allergies, what have you.  Starting to abate this evening, so I'll be fine for tomorrow. 

Eleanor has been sleeping on me a lot of most nights, which is not the most comfortable place for me, but - well. 

 

Dabbling

 Spent a few hours every day this week cleaning and sorting out the spare room/shop. I've done this many times before, but it tends to become a catchall.  Usually I take everything out, clean, then get tired and throw everything back in. This time, I went bit by bit, with a lot of stuff going into the "yard sale this summer" area of the basement.  It's still not completed, but I have one more day.  

Not sure it will help with this lint trap of a room, but the entropy has been resisted for a while. Trying to rethink my habits, reframing my life. Starting my young-old age. Finding a persistent kindness, patience and gentleness, a lightness, that is new to me. 

We went to the Caroline Shaw concert at the local college, and it was amazing in a different way.  I've completely fallen in love with her music. In manus tuas gives me chills.

While it is true I have not been writing here, it's also true I have not been making photos either.  I think I was creeping into a mild state of depression. Avoiding going outside.  Work, home, bed.  Lots of projects I want to start, but not really launching into any of them. Dabbling, hunkering, idling. 

More understanding, with less need to explain. 

61, my prime number.